Friday, February 27, 2009

Fortress of Solitude

Living alone suits me, I think.

For the past 30 years of my life I have always shared my space with someone else - family, dorm mates, a boyfriend, collegemates, former school mates, strangers - and now, for the first time in my life, I am living alone. And I have grown to love what I once feared.

There's something about unlocking the door and stepping into a space that is steeped in quiet. I stand at my doorway for a split second each time I come home and wait in delicious anticipation for the welcome solitude to rush forth. Lately the days have been long and exhausting, and returning home is like entering a sanctuary. But there are also days when the sanctuary seems too much of a fortress, and I wish that there was another warm body occupying the space.

This solitude allows me to think. I ponder while I cut up vegetables for dinner. I muse as I vaccum and dust. I reflect when I sit on the balcony, a book in one hand and a glass of white in the other. I wonder when I lie in bed looking out at the indigo sky and feeling the cool night breeze on my face. I retreat into myself in this space. And when I emerge, the world always looks like a darn good place! I am meditating without even realising it.

I love living alone for now. My only fear is that I may grow to love it too much if I'm not careful.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Remembering

The rains came last night. Unannounced and very welcome.

I lay in bed unable to sleep after my midnight conversation. It had been a long day and my eyes stung from fatigue. Yet my mind whirred ahead oblivious to my physical exhaustion. I hit the bedside light and pulled out Julia Cameron. Then I smelt it. The unmistakable heavy humid smell of rain.

The sky slowly turned a pale red and a cool breeze raced through the apartment, chasing away the unforgiving heat. I climbed out of bed, fixed myself a drink and settled on my balcony to watch the storm approach.

As the rain hammered on roofs and roads, I breathed in deeply. Work has been a slave driver and my ritual of reading into the wee hours of the morning on my balcony had been reduced to a memory. As I sat watching nature's beauty unfold, I realised how much I have missed those sacred nights.